


Distorted

by fathomless



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, I am actually on my KNEES, Sad Clarke Griffin, Wishful Thinking, not sure what else to add, season 7, void!bellamy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:00:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24601996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fathomless/pseuds/fathomless
Summary: His brows furrow in annoyance, and where his eyes were once endless pools of feeling, they’re shallow. There’s an emptiness to him. Her stomach sinks, eyes suddenly filling with a new onset of tears, though this time for a vastly different reason as she realizes that although Bellamy stands before her, he isn’t the Bellamy she knows and loves.He isn’t the Bellamy that she’s traveled across the universe for, hell-bent on saving.— or, Clarke makes it to Bardo and reunites with Bellamy, but things don't go according to plan.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 4
Kudos: 73





	Distorted

**Author's Note:**

> hi guys! i've seen a lot of speculation surrounding the possibility of Bellamy being brainwashed/working for those in bardo, and with the help of some speculation i've seen floating around, this came to be. anyway, enjoy!

Her eyes slowly blink open to the sight of fluorescent lights and pristine white walls. 

With her first inhale, she recognizes the heady smell of filtered air and harsh cleaning product; a memory she still wishes to forget brought to the forefront of her mind. A voice permeates the emptiness around her, a familiarity about it. 

“Subject’s been captured, Sir. Rendition to Bardo complete.” The click of a radio, crackling, and a low voice on the other end before an added, “I’ll handle it.”

Head still spinning, it’s only when they step into her line of vision a brief moment later that she realizes why, exactly, their voice was so familiar. 

He’s cloaked in white from head to toe, the color foreign on a body that’s no stranger to dirt and grime. His hair is trimmed short, facial hair reduced to nothing more than a shadow of stubble. _“Bellamy,”_ she breathes, eyes filling with tears. She tries to move, longing to reach out to him, but instead finds her arms fastened to the chair beneath her. 

His brows furrow as if annoyed, and where his eyes were once endless pools of feeling, they’re shallow. There’s an emptiness to him. Her stomach sinks, eyes suddenly filling with a new onset of tears, though this time for a vastly different reason as she realizes that although Bellamy stands before her, he isn’t the Bellamy she knows and loves. 

He isn’t the Bellamy that she’s traveled across the universe for, hell-bent on saving. 

“Bellamy?” she asks, voice small. He takes a step closer, cold, and for the first time, Clarke finds herself feeling afraid. Bellamy doesn’t scare her, but the thought of what they’ve done to him, and the unfeeling shell of a person stepping towards her is enough to make her shrink in response. 

“Clarke,” he acknowledges her directly for the first time, a chill running through her at the sight of the pistol strapped to his thigh, his hand drawn to it. “The others are glad you made it.” 

“What are you talking about? Who?” 

“You don’t need to know,” he shrugs a shoulder, tilting his head. “You’ll find out soon enough. They’ve been waiting for you.”

“Why? Bellamy,” she begs, voice beginning to break as she moves against the restraints, conflicted in the way she simultaneously wants to be closer to him and as far away from him as she can possibly be. “What did they do to you?”

“Nothing that wasn’t well deserved,” he explains, and she can feel her heart crack into a million little pieces where it had previously been taped together, already fragile in her chest. “Nothing that they don’t plan on doing to you, too. Relax, Clarke.” Then, as an afterthought, devoid of emotion, “Or I’ll have to make sure you do.” 

He steps behind her, fiddling with something she’s unable to see, and she isn’t sure whether she’s feeling more inclined to scream or cry, wishing to allow herself to fall apart after barely being able to hold it together for so long. She feels a chill, body running cold as she ponders the fact that she has, quite literally, traveled through space and time to save Bellamy, just to end up here; on the verge of tears, strapped to a chair, Bellamy the one responsible. 

She wants to call out for him, to beg for him to let her go. Or, worse, beg for him to come back to her, wherever he is. However deep they’ve buried the part of him that she knows is calling out to her, too. Her eyes drift shut, body flinching in response as his fingers drawl across her temple, hooking cool metal into place. They don’t linger on her skin, instead moving clinically, unfamiliar for a touch she knows so well. 

“Hey,” she calls out, gripping the arm of the chair. “Hey, please, Bellamy. Don’t do this, whatever it is they’re telling you to do. Don’t do it.” Barely able, she maneuvers herself enough that she can see him, the way he simply blinks in response to her words. A hand on her shoulder, rough, forces her back down. 

“I _said_ to relax,” he orders, and she swallows, wondering if, after all he’s done to save her, Bellamy will be the one to end her once and for all.

“Bellamy, please, _listen_ to me.” He continues to work, unaffected. The radio at his waist crackles to life, signal seemingly poor as she can only catch a phrase here and there through the static, the names of those she’s traveled with being muttered in between. 

Raven, Miller, Jackson, Niylah, Jordan. 

If Clarke were to guess, she would assume the others are going through a similar experience at the moment. Except, not really, considering none of them are having to face a brainwashed shell of who was once their best friend, the love of their life in the way that she currently is. 

“You don’t have to do this, you don’t have to listen to them. It’s _me,_ Bellamy. You wouldn’t hurt me, I _know_ you. This isn’t who you are.”

“You don’t know me, Clarke.” She’s taken aback by the anger in his voice, the way he becomes rough in his movements behind her. He tightens her restraints, causing her to wince, before taking a step back. “You don’t know them, either, and you’re wrong.” A pause, and then, firm, “You’re no one.” 

She can’t stop the pained gasp that escapes her parted lips, the tears that begin to trail down her cheeks. 

“No,” Clarke pleads, hoping it reaches him. “You’re wrong, Bellamy, you _know_ who I am. You care about me, remember? _I_ care about _you._ Now, just- just let me go. Let me go and we’ll figure this out, I promise. We- we can figure this out together, we can get out of here. It doesn’t have to be like this.” 

Quiet. 

Next, the high-pitched beepingof a machine. In the moments between, electrodes are placed against her scalp.

“He cared about you, too,” he explains. “Loved you, even.” 

The world around her begins to go dim at the edges. 

(She loves him, too.)

“Except,” Bellamy continues, “I’m not him.”

_No,_ she supposes he isn’t. Not in any of the ways that matter. Except, of one thing she is sure: the Bellamy she knows and loves is in there somewhere, and she doesn’t plan on letting him go. 

_Before she can dignify his words with a response, everything goes black._

**Author's Note:**

> thoughts? feelings? further speculation? comments & kudos are always appreciated <3


End file.
